


there's only one thing

by Antares8



Series: The Pilgrim's Progress [13]
Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon & Comics)
Genre: Beast Wirt, Biohazard Sandwiches, Gen, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 13:15:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21458647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antares8/pseuds/Antares8
Summary: Greg makes Thanksgiving dinner for his brother the magic tree person. (Thankfully, this stuff is only a biohazard to humans.)
Relationships: Gregory & Wirt (Over the Garden Wall)
Series: The Pilgrim's Progress [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1051850
Comments: 42
Kudos: 378





	there's only one thing

there's only one thing

It's lunchtime that gives Greg the idea. He'd been feeling kind of tired before he got to go eat, but then he had lunch and got a big burst of energy (just in time for recess!) and then he thought of how tired Wirt got on Halloween and a lightbulb went off above his head.

So he's been waiting (very patiently, if he says so himself) for the end of the school day, which is in just a couple minutes. Greg spends this time paying no attention to the story Ms. Lim is reading them (he has that book at home anyways), imagining Wirt's reaction to his idea. He'll definitely love it, the boy decides.

The bell rings. The other students get up and go to their lockers, but Greg makes a beeline for Ms. Lim. "One second," she says to him, putting away the book. "There. Now, how can I help you?"

"What do plants eat? Other than sunlight, I mean." Because Wirt is, sort of, technically a plant now. Or maybe he's just half-tree or something; Greg doesn't think that even Wirt knows exactly what he is. But whatever he might be, he has leaves, and those are plant parts, and he can do photocinnamon like plants can too, so it stands to reason that he can eat other foods that plants like, too. And if he can have a snack when he visits, Greg reasons, he can stay longer! Besides, his next visit is on Thanksgiving, and they can't _not_ feed Wirt something special on Thanksgiving.

Ms. Lim blinks a bit before responding. "Technically, plants don't _eat_ anything, Greg," she explains. "But they use their roots to take in nutrients from the soil."

Wirt does not have roots. Greg knows this because his brother likes to stay barefoot these days, and he definitely would have noticed anything weird about Wirt's feet.

"What kind of nutrients?" he asks.

"There's a lot of them," Ms. Lim says. "The most important ones are called nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium. Those are some of the most important ingredients in fertilizer."

"Fertilizer," Greg mutters, feeling kind of silly. "What's the best fertilizer to give a plant? I want him really healthy and full of energy."

His teacher's eyebrows climb a bit at that. "I'm… not quite certain which fertilizers can make a plant energetic. Did your family get a Venus flytrap?"

"I'm asking the questions here," Greg reminds her. "But what's a Venus flytrap?"

She explains that Venus flytraps are super-cool plants that can move and eat bugs—not normal meat, because that's bad for them, but they love bugs, and bugs help keep them healthy. Greg thinks of how Wirt can't eat meat anymore and wonders if he would like to eat creepy-crawlies. Probably not, he concludes. He'll have to hide the bugs in the rest of the food like Mom sometimes does with his vegetables.

"What other things would you give to plants to keep them healthy?" he asks when she's done.

"Compost," Ms. Lim supplies, "manure, regular fertilizer, liquid fertilizer, plant food—"

"There's plant food?" Greg exclaims. "Why didn't you say so?"

"It's not the kind of food you're thinking of," she assures him. "It's more like a special liquid that you put into the dirt to make sure it has enough nutrients."

"Oh, okay. Where do you get this plant food?"

"Gardening stores would have the best selection. Say, Greg, if you're so interested in plants, I bet you could find some books about them tomorrow."

That's right! Tomorrow is Library Day. Greg makes a mental note to remember to bring the book he'd checked out last week before returning to the more important subject. "Is there anything else that's good for them?"

"Hm." Ms. Lim taps her chin. "A gardener friend of mine swears by old banana peels. I think he mentioned eggshells too."

"Hi, Carrie, Greg," calls a familiar voice. Greg turns around to see Dad walking into the room. "What have you been terrorizing this poor woman about now?"

"I wouldn't call myself terrorized, Jonathan," Ms. Lim chuckles, "just a bit out of my depth. I don't know much about gardening."

"Gardening?" Dad echoes. He clearly doesn't get it. That's okay; Greg can tell him on the way home. "You should talk to Mrs. Daniels about that, kiddo."

"Good idea," Greg exclaims. "Can we go to her house on the way home?"

"I don't think so. Your mom and I are going on a date, so you get to eat early."

"Ah, beans."

Dad's eyes twinkle. "Okay, we'll make you some beans. Lots and lots of beans."

Greg rolls his eyes but follows Dad out the door, stopping by his locker to put on the green cloak Wirt got him. He's ninety-nine point nine nine nine nine into infinity percent certain that the cloak is enchanted, it's so warm and cozy and nice, but he hasn't told his parents yet. They're still not really comfortable with magic, and also they'd prefer for him to wear his boring old jacket like everybody else does, but everybody else doesn't have an awesome comfy cloak like he does, so that's a moot point.

On the walk home, Greg tells Dad all about his idea. Dad is less happy than he should be. "I don't think it's a good idea to feed your brother fertilizer, Greg. I'm… fairly certain that's a biohazard."

"But he's got leaves on his branchlers and he can do photocinnamon," Greg points out.

Dad winces a little. "Photosynthesis, and that doesn't mean he can eat all that other stuff. He eats human food just fine. Well," he corrects himself, "as long as it doesn't contain animal products."

"This stuff doesn't contain animal products," Greg informs him. "Except the eggshells, but those might be an exception if they're good for other plants."

Dad changes tactics. "Do you really think that Wirt would want to eat all that stuff? It doesn't sound like a very tasty Thanksgiving meal."

"I could add pepper and spices."

Dad gets that look on his face like he's trying not to sigh. "No, Greg, we're not going to feed Wirt plant food. It's a wonderful thought, and I know that he would appreciate it, but it's just as likely to make him sick. Okay?"

Greg hides his hands so Dad can't see him crossing his fingers. "…Okay."

* * *

Mrs. Daniels knows a lot about gardening. She confirms what Ms. Lim said about the eggshells and banana peels and even explains about the different types of plant food and fertilizer that she uses. She even has recipes, though Greg's not certain how many of those he can use. He doesn't know if his parents have Epsom salts, and Mrs. Daniels is very adamant that he can't just substitute regular salt.

As Thanksgiving approaches, Greg starts gathering ingredients. He's pleased to discover that there are already two kinds of fertilizer in the garage, one solid, one liquid. He can't find any mulch or Epsom salts lying around the house, but they've also got a big, half-full bag of potting soil whose label promises that it's super-nutritious. Greg uses that bag to hide banana peels and dead ants and eggshells (rinsed off, of course, because eggs make Wirt sick and raw eggs make _everybody_ sick).

Pretty much all of Greg's relatives are coming over for Thanksgiving dinner, so he and Jason mix the food together early that morning while his parents are still asleep, adding water to make everything stick together. Then he separates the… batter? Yeah, the Wirt Food Batter… into three parts.

The first dish is meant to replace the mini-sandwiches that Mom uses as an appetizer. Jason slathers some of the mix onto slices of bread, tops it with lots of pepper, and uses toothpicks to spear on lots of tomatoes and lots and lots of lettuce. Greg kneads rosemary, thyme, and bay leaves—he'd asked Mom what spices she uses on her turkey a couple days ago—into the biggest portion, then sculpts it into a rough turkey shape. That takes longer than he'd thought. By the time he's finished, Jason has already added pumpkin spice and sugar to the dessert. Fortunately, he still needs help making them into cookie shapes. When they're finished, they wrap their creations up tight in plastic bags, which they stick into his backpack and hide in the back of the car.

At this point, Jason assures Greg that he'll take care of the dishes, so the human can go back to sleep. Since it's just after three in the morning, Greg thanks him nicely and goes to bed.

* * *

Thanksgiving is uncomfortable. It isn't just that there's too many people so that everyone is really crowded, it's the way that people keep tiptoeing around how Wirt isn't here. Greg's not the only one who's happy when supper is over.

Since Mom and Dad did the cooking, Greg's mother's relatives are in charge of cleaning up (his father's parents had set the table and brought grown-up drinks that Greg wasn't allowed to touch). Dad very, very casually suggests going for a drive. Grandma, Grandpa, Mom, Greg, and Jason are quick to agree. They crowd into the car (Grandma gives the backpack a funny look but doesn't say anything) and drive to the cemetery, where they stop.

"Odd choice of a destination," Grandma comments.

"It's a long story," sighs Mom, "and… you have to see it to believe it."

Dad takes over for her. "The short version is that we're meeting Wirt here."

Greg takes advantage of the resulting clamor to slip past everybody with the Wirt Food, Jason hopping at his side.

Jason had understood from the very first moment why Wirt had decided to let his stepfather's parents in on the secret while not telling Mom's relatives. Most of Mom's family was kind of blabbermouthy and/or not at all inclined to understand. They'd probably try to do something crazy like keep Wirt from going back to his forest and his own _soul_, or maybe they'd call the police. But Wirt had always gotten along really well with Grandma and Grandpa, even back when he hadn't liked Dad very much, and they would only freak out a little.

Greg gets to the riverside first; he would set up the picnic blanket, but he hadn't thought to grab it out of the car. He settles for putting down a lantern (a normal lantern, not one with a soul inside it) and checking on the Wirt Food. To his dismay, the turkey no longer looks even a little bit like a turkey. It's just a lump of brown goop. Greg reminds himself that Mom always says that the flavor matters more than how it looks.

By now, his parents have herded his grandparents down to the river. Mom starts setting out the blanket. Grandma peers around, squinting into the growing darkness.

The air changes. Greg sits up straighter and sniffs deeply. It smells like the Unknown. He grins, looking out into the darkness, and sure enough, there's Wirt right now. Greg leaps up for a hug.

There's a couple minutes of confusion as Grandma and Grandpa demand answers. It shouldn't be confusing, except they keep talking over each other and hugging Wirt and also scolding him—they use his full name too, "Wirt Rudolph Palmer!"—so that nobody can explain why he had to leave.

"E̯̥̝̫̟͇n̦͎͔̜̮͞o̦̳u͕͇͓̠g̣͈h͠!͈̘̦̤̰̯̥" Wirt finally yells. The creepy echoes in his voice startle Grandma and Grandpa into being quiet. They stare at him in quiet confusion as he continues, "It's a long story, but the gist of it is that I'm magic now and have all these responsibilities that I can't fulfill from here."

"Wirt," says Grandma, "magic isn't real, and you're _sixteen_. Your only responsibility is to graduate high school."

Wirt sighs. "And so I must needs shine light through the blinding mists." He pulls a huge covering of shadows over himself, turning the darkness into a black cylinder interrupted only by his huge, glowing eyes. "T͎͎̰͡a͈̣̙̭̜͍̼ḏ͇̤́ą͕̭̬̤̘̗,̷̱̻̦̼̙̖͕" he intones. He's probably doing that fluttery thing with his hands, but Greg can't see them through the little patch of night that clings to him.

Grandma's mouth hangs open. Grandpa sinks onto the picnic blanket.

They probably believe him now.

The darkness melts away, leaving Wirt standing barefoot and nervous in the grass.

"What?" chokes Grandpa. He gestures faintly.

"Like I said," Wirt repeats softly, "it's a long story, and I probably won't have time to go into the details." He turns to Mom. "I don't think I can handle staying here for much longer than last time."

That's Greg's cue. "Never fear, brother o'mine," he crows, digging through his backpack to procure one of the appetizers. "Jason and I made you snacks!"

Wirt sniffs the air, his nose twitching a little. "That… actually smells really good. You made it for me?" He accepts the offering in his long-fingered hand.

"Yeah," Greg confirms. "Food gives me more energy, so I thought it could help you too. This way you can stay longer. Come on, eat up!"

"I have to explain," Wirt mumbles, eyeing the sandwich mournfully.

"Your parents can explain," Grandma decides. "You're far too skinny, especially for a teenager." She swallows hard. "You've gotten so tall," she adds softly.

Mom starts on a very brief retelling of how her boys ended up in the Unknown the first time and faced the first Beast. Greg knows that story already, so he pays more attention to Wirt as his brother lifts the sandwich to his mouth. His first bite is mostly lettuce—Greg is starting to think that they added too much lettuce, because he can't even see the special Wirt Food through all the leaves—but he gets some of the dirt-and-fertilizer-and-other-stuff mix on his second. His eyes go absolutely huge, and he gobbles up the sandwich like it's made of candy. Beaming, Greg hands over a second sandwich, which quickly meets a similar fate.

"So if this Beast thing is dead," Grandpa interrupts, "why did Wirt need to go back to that awful Unknown place?"

"It's not awful," Greg corrects him. "And Wirt had to go back because he had to take over from the Beast and clean up the mess he made and take care of his forest and stuff like that."

"It's true," Wirt confirms softly. "When I snuffed out the Dark Lantern, it, and the Unknown, laid claim to me. He who slays the Beast must take up the mantle he abandoned in ages past and become Caretaker to the forest and the world at large."

"Well…" Grandpa begins, "…why can't you give it to somebody else? You aren't even from that place, how can it own you?"

"I'm looking for a way," Wirt tells him, "but don't get your hopes up." He smiles. "It's not as bad as you think. I've got friends and a purpose, I've finally figured out what I'm supposed to do, and I'm not completely isolated from this world any longer."

"You shouldn't be isolated at all," Grandma protests. "You're too young for this, and it obviously isn't easy." She gestures at him. "Look at how skinny you are, and don't think I missed how you wolfed down those sandwiches." (Greg takes the opportunity to pass his brother the last sandwich. His brother starts eating it almost without noticing.) "It's November, but you're completely barefoot and you don't have any winter clothes." She pulls up short, another thought occurring to her. "Do you even have a home, Wirt, or have you just been wandering barefoot through some crazy woodland sleeping under trees?"

"I don't actually need to sleep," he assures her. "I don't need to eat, either, it's just that these are really good."

Jason croaks a couple times. Greg is still learning Froggish, but he catches something about fertilizer and health.

Wirt's head snaps around as his eyes bug out with utter horror. "_What_?" he yips. "Are you joking? Please tell me you're joking."

Jason shakes his head.

"What's wrong?" Mom demands.

"Don't worry," Greg assures his brother, "I made sure that there's no manure in the fertilizer."

Now Dad (and everybody else) is horrified too. "_Ferti_—Gregory, did you hide fertilizer under all that lettuce?"

"I didn't hide it, I just put on too much lettuce."

"What's the number for Poison Control?" Grandma asks, scrambling for her phone.

"Whoa!" Wirt's hands flutter. "I'm fine, seriously, just, um, confused. Greg, _why_ did you decide to feed me fertilizer?"

"You're part tree now," Greg reminds him, "but you don't have roots to suck up nutrients from the soil, so I mixed up a bunch of stuff that Mrs. Daniels says is good for plants so you don't get malnourished. I know that you can normally eat sunlight, but there's not a lot of sunlight in the winter, so I thought you might get hungry."

"Mom, put the phone away." Dad swallows. "Wirt… isn't exactly human anymore, so our healthcare won't help him."

Greg's grandparents flinch at that. "Are you sure you'll be okay?" Grandma chokes.

"Positive," Wirt says gently. "I feel… a lot better than I expected, really. Greg might be onto something."

"Good, because there's a main course and dessert," Greg chirps.

"…Oh," squeaks Wirt, obviously overwhelmed by his brother's generosity and thoughtfulness. "That's… really great, Greg. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Greg passes him the rest of the Wirt Food. "This one was supposed to look like a turkey, but it fell apart in the car. This other one is dessert. Come on, eat! You need to keep your energy up."

"...I'd _love_ to, Greg, I really would, but it looks like I'd have to eat these with a spoon, which we don't have." Jason reaches into the backpack and withdraws a spoon. Wirt blinks. "Oh. There is a spoon. That's. Great."

"Eat up," Greg repeats.

"Can we… maybe get back to the explanation?" Mom asks. There's something tight about her voice. "I'm not sure how much longer Wirt has, and I'd like you to know what's going on before he has to leave."

Greg's grandparents stop looking sadly at Wirt to meet each others' eyes. "All right," Grandpa says. "So… Wirt has to stay in this Unknown place because he had to take the monster's place?"

Grandma shudders.

"The Beast was supposed to be a forest guardian," Wirt explains. "But then… I don't know what happened, honestly. I don't think that anybody does. At some point he started making edelwoods out of weakened mortals instead of the… magical corruption that infects parts of my forest. Then he couldn't make the good kind of edelwoods or do his job, and he just kept getting crueler and more ruthless every year." His lips curve. "It took me awhile, but I eventually figured out how to do his original job, so now I'm trying to fix all the infected portions of my forest that the Beast didn't heal. I don't go around hunting people down to turn them into edelwood." His eyes darken. "Although you might want to look over the first letter I sent to Mom and Jonathan. It's got a lot of details that I left out." His hand drifts up to rub at his temple.

Greg pokes him. "Branchlers," he scolds.

"I'm fine," Wirt lies. "No, don't look at me like that, I really am."

"…Branchlers?" Grandpa echoes, sounding like he would really rather _not_ know.

"Yeah," Greg scowls. "Wirt gets headaches if he has to stay human-looking for too long. He needs to change back now."

His grandparents are very pale.

Wirt does the hand-fluttering thing again. "It's not so bad," he promises. "I'm not a horrible monster constructed of screaming wooden faces stacked upon each other in a chorus of silent agony. I just have weird eyes and antlers, that's all."

"Branchlers," Greg corrects him. "Part antler, part branch, all cool. They look way better than the Beast's."

Wirt lights up a little. "You really think so?" He pulls up short, blushing gray. "Not that it matters."

"Yeah, they're really neat. Show Grandma and Grandpa, Wirt." Because they're looking at his decidedly branchler-less head with expressions of skepticism.

"That's really not necessary, Greg."

"Yes it is."

Wirt's eyes dart over to Grandma and Grandpa. He takes in their paleness, the stiff way they hold themselves, and shakes his head. "Let's maybe give your grandparents a bit longer to adjust to everything."

"They're _Wirt's_ branchlers, Greg," Mom pipes up.

Wirt points an accusing finger at her. "Not you too! Antlers, Mom, they're _antlers_."

"Whatever makes you more comfortable, dear," chokes Grandma.

"Hah," chortles Greg. "Dear, deer."

"That's it," grumbles Wirt. "I'm never making you strawberries again."

"Making him strawberries?" Grandpa interrupts.

"Wirt has plant magic," Greg supplies. "Cause he's a forest spirit tree wizard thing. He makes the best strawberries. They're organic!"

Grandma is swallowing hard, her eyes still huge.

"Mom, Dad," Dad pipes up, "why don't you tell Wirt about your exciting misadventures in dog sitting?"

Wirt seizes on the subject change. "Yes. Please do."

Grandma's smile is a little wavery, but she starts in on the story they'd told at dinner about how their neighbor left her collie in their care for almost a week. Wirt listens attentively. Grandma only stops when Wirt absently lifts the first spoonful of not-turkey to his mouth, but Grandpa takes over right away.

In the end, Wirt makes it almost seven minutes longer than he did last time, and that's with him staying entirely in his human form. It's got to be the Wirt Food, Greg concludes smugly.

He's already planning recipes for Christmas.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Potatoes and Molasses" in the third episode.
> 
> ...The sad thing is, this would probably be somewhat to super angsty from anyone else's POV. Ah well. It's worth it to make sure that Wirt is taking care of himself properly.
> 
> My next one-shot for this series will hopefully be up in December. It's a lot more serious than this and actually involves some plot.
> 
> Amy, Jonathan, and their family's dynamics are all lifted directly from the excellent works of skimmingthesurface.
> 
> pottsfield-cm made this adorable picture of Greg in his new cloak. tumblr/dashboard/blog/pottsfield-cm/188748717798


End file.
